"W-What the hell is happening!?" Jerien shouted, his voice shaking as his eyes darted up at the sky.
Yet, even as his body trembled, his hands moved rapidly, rummaging through his saddlebag to pull out a pen and a notebook.
*Flip! *Flip!
He flipped it open and began scribbling frantically.
Words. Descriptions. Feelings.
Was he documenting the end?
Trying to record history happening in front of him before it swallowed him?
His lips moved silently as he wrote. "Twitching red eye in sky… darkness everywhere… shrieks… this is no eclipse…"
Behind him, someone else's voice rose sharply.
"What's the plan!?" shouted the middle-aged man who always followed Emera around like her shadow. His voice was loud, stern—battle-hardened.
His name, Beren, always rang like a commander even before he spoke.
His brows were furrowed, jaw clenched as the tension echoed in the air.
Before Emera could form a reply, Biyo stepped forward.
The sheer mass and frame of the man made several heads turn.
